The Boys of The Dregs
by EyesOfEmeraldFire
Summary: Every Regulator has a story of his own. (Pre Movie, Pre Billy The Kid, Pre Lincoln War. Enjoy! Reviews are love!)
Young and desperate, down on his luck and rejected time and again by the only woman he ever loved, the tall dark cowboy wandered west from his Northern home, down into New Mexico with nothing but fifty dollars in his pocket and an extra shirt and a little grub in a burlap sack.

His Mama had cried. Her baby was too young to make it out in such ruthless country alone. But he had known better. He was young, but he was strong, and he'd done a lot of praying over the subject too. The Lord had seemed to be on his side with this one. Or if he wasn't, he hadn't bothered to send him a sign to halt his plans.

"All ashore, son." The conductor said when the big black locomotive reached Roswell, New Mexico.

"Much obliged." The young man replied with a slight tip of his hat as he got to his feet, his dusty burlap slung over his shoulder as he hopped down from the luggage car onto the dusty streets of the bustling little town.

The west was said to be a rugged place, and he'd believed the stories, but this wasn't exactly what he had expected. Roswell didn't look as dangerous as those little yellow back books had made it seem. Maybe the West really wasn't so bad after all.

After a quick glance around the young boy headed in the direction of a large livery stable at the edge of town. He needed a decent mount to make it in this country. Wether the rumors of the west were true or not, having a good horse was just common sense.

Upon entering, the boy spotted a blazed face gelding. A sturdy, muscular horse with his head and ears held high. He'd do just fine if he could afford him.

"Hey there..." He spoke gently, approaching the horse and stroking the bridge of his nose lightly before scratching underneath his chin. The horse nickered to him and he cracked a little grin. He'd spend his life around horses if he could. They were a good sight friendlier than most people he'd known.

"I see yer admirerin' Ol' red there, sonny." The Irish stable owner acknowledge the boy, stepping over with a outstretched hand.

"Fine lookin' animal." The young man replied, reaching out his own hand to shake the man's. "Dick Brewer." He introduced himself.

"Nice to meet ya, boyo. Names Seamus." The man replied. "Need a mount do ye'?"

"That's about the size of it I reckon." Dick nodded, taking a look inside the horses's mouth to assess the age of the animal. He figured him to be around seven or eight. Still pretty young. He'd work alright for him for awhile.

"This ones a mighty fine one." The owner assured him, patting the horse's rump a couple times. "Cuts cattle like a champ and a fine roper. Never has spooked at gunfire as long as I've known him. A cattleman's dream he is. He'd do well by ya, boyo."

"He is a looker. I'll give him that." Dick nodded, rubbing down the horse's back as he looked him over from top to bottom. He knew horses like the back of his hand. That he owed to Daddy. He'd taught him well.

"How much?" He asked the owner after awhile of checking the gelding over thoroughly.

"Well, for him I'd say forty. If you're in need of a saddle and bridle it'll be around fifty five all together." The owner said, rubbing the animal's neck.

Dick's face turned hard again, disappointed. He'd let himself put his heart into the horse already like a foolish child.

"Sure ya can't go any lower, mister?" He asked the man. "See, I've only got about thirty to spend."

The shop owner shook his head. "I'm afraid he ain't mine to barter with, me boy or I would." He replied with a sorrowful frown.

Dick sighed and gave the red gelding one last pat on the shoulder before stepping away. "Reckon I'd better look at your other stock then." He said.

"Well hold on, now." The livery owner told him. "Ye' seem like a good lad. I wouldn't feel right lettin' ye' walk away without this horse."

Dick stopped and looked at the man intently, listening to every word he had I say after that.

"I got a load of feed comin' in at noon, a roof that needs reparin' and some colts that need breakin'." He told him. "My boy won't be back from Santa Fe till Friday, and my stable hand's nursin' a broken leg. If ya'd be willin' to help a poor old horseman I'll sell ol' red to ya for twenty. Saddle, bridle and all."

Dick was shocked, and gratefully he shook the man's hand. "It's a deal, sir." He told the old man with a nod. "I'm in your debt."

"No need, boyo. The good lord wants his people to help one another." The stable owner replied. "I'm just carryin' out his wishes.

The old man was just the kind soul Dick Brewer needed to cut his teeth out here in the west. After the work had all been done and he'd scrounged up a little extra from breaking a couple young fillies for some old cowboys, he said goodbye to the friendly old stable owner, thanked him kindly and lit out of Roswell for Lincoln to find some more permanent work. He'd asked around and most folks agreed the growing little cowtown was just the place to go job hunting.

As soon as he entered the town of Lincoln he understood what all the fuss over the west had been about. Lincoln was a rough place alright.

Hangings were a regular event and just after a few weeks of being in town Dick had seen at least four and didn't care to watch another.

"Lot of bad ones around these parts huh?" He asked an old cowhand outside of the saloon one night after an unlucky outlaw was strung up outside the jailhouse.

"All the worst of 'em." The man replied sourly. "Your in outlaw country now, boy. Best get yerself some lead if'n ya wanna keep yer guys inside ya."

Dick didn't take the warning lightly. The next day he got himself a .45 to strap around his waist. Even if he never had to use it, it made him feel a lot better having it near and handy.

Of course, the outlaws had no reason to bother him anyway. In fact, his temporary arrangements had even offered him a chance to get on good terms with a few. Breaking horses was a business most outlaws found essential to their lifestyle, and Dick was mighty good at it.

They weren't his only customers, however, and that he was glad of. Mostly it was ranch hands, and farmers that sought him out, needing a colt broken in or a bronc tamed down enough to cut cattle with. It was tough work, but Dick wasn't complaining. It paid decent and even though he'd come out west to be a rancher, he enjoyed the work with horses.

One of his costumers always kept him on his toes, though, wanting several cart horses broken to drive.

Dick wasn't exactly familiar with driving horses, but after the first few he found his way around them.

"Fine work, my boy. He's a joy to take to town now. How do you do it?" The old Englishman praised Dick one afternoon after picking up the colt he'd left to Dick a few weeks before.

"Just doin' my job, Mr. Tunstall." The boy replied. "Nothin' special."

The man was a kind, gentle soul. He paid generously was always friendly and willing to talk awhile when he came to pick his horses up. Dick liked him. He was a good man in an awful rough place.

He'd watch the old fella drive his old shiny buggy up to the general store every morning while he was working the colts at sunup.

He'd wave to Dick with a warm and kind smile and he'd wave back with one of his own.

After awhile the two struck up a friendship, and Dick came to find himself looking forward to the man's visits every afternoon, when business in his store was rather slow.

They talked of his home in England, and of Dick's own home in Vermont, the families they'd left behind and the hopes they had for ranching.

"It's a rather hard land to get along in, Richard, that much is certain." The man said one day while Dick was brushing down a young stud.

"Yeah but if a fella can make it here the payoff can be awful good." He replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with a dusty sleeve.

"Quite right." Mr. Tunstall nodded with an amused grin, watching the boy work. "You're an ambitious young man, my boy. I like that in a person."

"Just the way my folks raised me, I reckon." Dick replied, checking the colt's hooves before standing up straight, cracking his aching back and walking over to the water Paul he had hanging over the post for a drink.

"Well they raised you right then, son." Mr. Tunstall told him with an approving nod.

"Thank ya, sir." Dick replied before swallowing down a few big ladles full of cold water.

Dick grew attached to his new friend and after awhile he became like a sort of father figure to him, stopping by to check on him and visit several times a day and bringing him food and water often when he needed it.

Kindness was tough to come by in Lincoln County, and Dick was happy to have found a little in the kind old shop keeper.

Fate gave him a chance to return the favor one morning when his friend came into town, driving that same shiny buggy down the trail from the South.

Unfortunately for Mr. Tunstall, the wheels of his old rig hadn't been as cut out for the rough terrain as the salesman made them out to be, and he soon found himself with a busted front wheel outside his store.

"Damn..." He muttered, stepping out of the buggy to assess the damage.

"Held up longer than I figured they would." Richard said, hopping the corral fence and hurrying over to offer up his assistance.

"Aye. It was only a matter of time I suppose." John nodded with a sigh.

"That con of a blacksmith will charge ya extra for every knick and dent he finds." Dick told his friend. "I can fix her up real nice for ya myself. Consider it a favor."

"You'd do that for me would you?" John asked, surprised.

"Sure." Dick nodded. "Do onto others as you would have them do to you. Luke 6:31. Ain't that right?"

John cracked a smile and nodded. "That it is, my boy." He replied.

Dick fixed up the broken wheel as good as new by that evening, just in time for Mr. Tunstall to be locking up the store for the night.

"Fine work, my young man." John nodded approvingly, admiring the new wheel.

"Well you can thank my Pa." Dick told him, approaching the tall black mare John had hooked to his buggy and giving the underside of her chin a good scratching. "He was always pretty handy with a hammer. Taught me a little back home."

"He taught you well." John replied, stepping back and watching Dick with the horse.

"If you don't mind me asking, my boy..." He started to say. "You seem to have quite a way with horses. How are you with cattle?"

Dick shrugged and rubbed the black mare's neck. "Alright I reckon." He replied.

"If I remember correctly it was ranch work you came out here to find is that right?" John then asked him.

Dick nodded. "Yeah. Figured I'd get a place of my own one day or another." He said. "Guess that ain't gonna happen though. Land prices got a funny way of goin' up on a fella." He dug into his pocket and fished out a sugar cube for the horse, who excepted it gratefully.

"Well if you'd settle for work on another man's outfit, I'm in need of a good foreman." Mr. Tunstall mentioned.

Dick turned to look at him, taken aback by the suggested.

"You offerin' me a job Mr. Tunstall?" He asked.

"That I am, my boy." John nodded to him, extending a hand. "What do you say?"

It didn't take a lot of thought. Dick took the man's hand and firmly shook it, agreeing to his offer with the brightest smile his hardened face had ever worn.

TBC


End file.
